


Moonbeams in Their Hair

by AlitheCambre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Feel-good, Multi, Romance, Self Confidence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlitheCambre/pseuds/AlitheCambre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when Stiles was drunk and depressed about his mother but also sort of questioning his sexuality and had access to the internet- which is a horrible idea even when he's sober.</p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Stiles is a crossdresser but stopped when people teased him in elementary school but has decided he doesn't give any more fucks.</p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Derek sees Stiles in a dress and has an unexpected (but not unwelcome) reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so i am not genderfluid and I wanted to write something with Stiles as genderfluid but after this people wrote to me very politely and told me it was more crossdressing than genderfluid! I have hopefully corrected that mistake and will be sure not to make it in the future, I am so sorry if I offended anyone.
> 
> I am just so sick of the same love stories and I wanted to write something a bit different so I hope you all still enjoy it! 
> 
> {Note: Stiles will not refer to himself as a 'she' when he is dressed like a 'female' because he still views himself as a pansexual male, he's justfluid with what he decides to wear}

> _"I just wanted to be part of the game... and then I realized- I create the game."_
> 
> **_-Conchita Wurst_ **

* * *

 

It all started on the tenth anniversary of Claudia Stilinski's death. Stiles was nineteen now and sick of the looks he got from everyone on this day. He braced himself against them all day, putting on a weak smile and a bit of a show. He allowed Scott to drag him around and "take his mind off of it" but when it came time for him to go home he was glad of it, he wanted to be alone.

He found his dad in the living room. The Sheriff gave him a knowing look and a sad smile before handing him a bottle of his favourite scotch.

"Just this once, kid, alright? I think you need it."

"Thanks, Dad." They embraced for a solid minute before both drew back, each tactfully ignoring the other's tears. Still avoiding each other's gazes, the Sheriff cleared his throat. 

"Well, off with you."

"Thanks." Stiles smiled a little and pivoted to leave before pausing in the doorway and half turning back. "I love you,"

"Love you too, son." John's voice was gruff and full of emotion but Stiles just nodded and continued his trek up to his bedroom, locking the door behind himself. Kicking off his shoes and shucking his pants, he unscrews the bottle cap and takes a swig, standing in the middle of his room wearing a tee shirt and boxers for a long moment, savoring the burn of alcohol as it slid down his throat. Taking a few deep breaths, he strode over to his closet, opening the door and sitting indian style on the floor, pulling his old lacrosse gear and some dirty clothes out of the way until he unearthed a simple black shoebox and pulled it into his lap, taking another swig of scotch before setting the bottle aside and opening the lid of the box.

Inside were numerous pictures, letters, cards, and a couple little baubles. Each and every one of these things held some sort of connection with his mom- he had boxed them away on the first anniversary of her death with his dad. It had been a tearful, pain-filled process but they had managed it and they moved on. Only once a year did Stiles dare to crack open the lid of this box and today happened to be that day.

Clearing a space around himself, he dumped the contents on the floor and ran his fingers through the mess, spreading it out before him. Picture by picture and letter by letter he sifted his way through the items, crying silently and drinking. He didn't know how long it had been but suddenly he found himself staring at a few photos in particular. Each of them had himself and his mother in them but they were a bit different from the others. In them, he was older than three but no more than age nine. His shaggy hair had been curled and his feet encased in pretty shoes. In every one of them he was some sort of dress. Cute, frilly things that fit him well and always matched his bandana or hairbow or sometimes even makeup. And in every one of these photos he was beaming, happy to be free.

As a kid he didn't discriminate. He wore whatever pleased him that particular day and the Sheriff and Claudia encouraged his open-mindedness. That all stopped when he was teased and beat up by Jackson and a few of his friends in elementary school. He had changed himself to fit better into the world's views on gender roles.

God, he was so fucking sick of it.

Making his (admittedly impaired) decision, he put everything but one picture back into the box and staggered to his feet. Making his way over to his desk he removed the picture in the frame on it (a picture of himself and Scott at summer camp) and replaced it with the smiling faces of himself and his mother and then set it back where it belonged. He opened his laptop and clicked on the little icon for chrome. It was time he was himself again.

* * *

 

Stiles awoke with the hangover of all hangovers. You know, besides the ones in the  _Hangover_ movies. He groaned and rolled off his bed, pulling the duvet down with him in his attempt to escape the sunlight. That was how his dad found him an hour later, asleep and half under his bed, hair a mess and face pressed to the hardwood floor with a jumble of blanket swathing him. John sighed and saw the half-finished liquor bottle by the closet and picked it up before walking over to wake his son.

"Stiles," he shook his shoulder roughly. "Stiles, it's time for breakfast." the teen groaned and rolled over, blinking up at his father blearily. 

"Nooooo," he groaned pitifully.

"Stiles..." John sighed when his son ignored him. "I have coffee and bacon."

"Ugh," the teen reluctantly levered himself off the floor and began kicking away his duvet, freeing his legs to stand. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll be down after my shower."

"I'll be waiting," the Sheriff called back as he left the room.

"And dad?"" John paused in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," the older man's face softened into an almost-smile.

"No problem, kid."

0o0o0o0o

It wasn't until days later, when a package addressed to him arrived on their doorstep, that Stiles remembered the full events of that night. The name of the shipping company was stamped on the plain brown box with the return address of a custom clothing store in LA. Stiles whisked it up to his room and set it on his floor, sitting on his bed off to the side. He spent almost ten minutes just staring at the box, alternating between trying to remember what exact styles he ordered and debating with himself on whether or not he still wanted to go through with this. The light of the setting sun reflected off the picture frame on his desk and he squinted, the picture coming into hazy focus. His younger self and his mother beamed out at him, their eyes identical and alight with joy and something Stiles missed dearly- freedom.

"Fuck it," he muttered, pulling himself off the bed and grabbing a pen, stabbing it into the tape on the box and ripping it open. The dresses he pulled out knocked his breath away. They were too perfect and so much better than he was expecting- his drunken self apparently had really good taste. There were six of them in total and even a couple shirt and skirt ensembles. But what's more is he apparently had also remembered to order extra padding in them and two cute lace, a-cup bras with matching panties. He blushed furiously as he unpacked it all, laying it out and surveying it, taking a deep, cleansing breath and blowing it out. "Okay," he muttered to himself.

Before he really thought of it he jumped back onto his bed and found his phone that was plugged in and charging and hit the speed dial number five (one was the police, two was Derek, three was Dad, four was Scott). The phone rang only once before the person on the other end picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he paused. "Can you um... can you come over?"

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he blew out another breath. "I just... I need your help with something."

"Okay," the voice was still gentle "I'll be there in ten minutes. I'm in line at Starbucks, you want a pumpkin frappe?"

"Yeah," he smiled, it was his favorite. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Lyd,"

"Anytime. I'll be there in ten. Bye,"

"Bye,"

The connection cut off and he slowly lowered his phone, taking a few more deep breaths before flopping down on his mattress and staring at his ceiling. No turning back now.

Lydia showed up ten minute later on the dot, a frappe in each hand and her purse slung around her elbow, the tan colour matching the patented tan leather of her flats and the headband in her hair, a floral dress with a tan belt swishing around her knees in the slight breeze of the autumn day. Stiles let her in with a shaky smile, still nervous. He knew she wouldn't judge him once he explained but he hoped he was able to do that properly- in a way that made sense. He took his pumpkin spice frappe and drank a little before leading her up to his room, talking on the way.

"You... you probably don't remember this... well, maybe you do- you were in my class at the time- but when I was younger I used to have a few... dresses." They stood outside his bedroom door now but he made no move to let her in, instead facing her in an attempt to gauge her reaction. "I stopped wearing them because kids started teasing me but... I came across some old pictures of my mom and me and," his voice cracked and Lydia's carefully attentive expression faded into something more tender. She reached out her free hand to rest on his arm, squeezing lightly in a show of support.

"Stiles, I'm not going to judge you," she said gently. "I think I know where this is going but could you finish anyways?"

"Yeah," he forced himself to relax a little, deliberately not thinking about his mom. "So I just... I got so  _sick_ of it all, the conformity and repression, so I bought a couple dresses and now I just nee your opinion and your help with my hair and makeup and maybe you could teach me? I just didn't know who else to call and I hope this isn't weird and-,"

"Stiles," she cut him off with a smile. "I would love to help you. Can I see the dresses you bought?"

"Yeah," he nods a little and takes a deep breath before opening the door to his room. All six dresses, three skirts and four shits are spread out on display. Lydia enters behind him and surveys his choices, nodding.

"Good choices," she approved. The last of his tension drained out of Stiles' shoulders and he smiled self-consciously. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Lydia smiled. "Well, since your hair is already grown out a bit this shouldn't be a problem." from her purse she produced a small curling iron and some makeup. "now this makeup will probably not match your skin tone so we'll have to shop for your own. Do you want to do that now or after we get you all dolled up?"

Stiles thought about it for a long moment. If he went now he might lose his nerve... but if he went after he was dolled up we would be going out in public in a dress. Carefully sitting on the edge of his desk, he chewed his lip. Eventually he decided that e had to face the public sometime- and wasn't that the point of this, to stop caring what people thought?

"After," he answered, his tone firmer than he anticipated. Lydia smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes.

"Great! Let's get started."

Two hours later Stiles was shaved all over, plucked, exfoliated, moisturized, painted, powdered, and curled to perfection. Lydia had purposely not allowed him to look in a mirror throughout the entire process. The dress she picked was simple, a blue sundress with wide straps that went just past his knees. He had blushed when she shoved the white bra and pantie set at him but had nonetheless slipped it on and covered it with the dress. When he emerged barefoot from the bathroom Lydia clicked her tongue, staring at his feet.

"One more thing," she opened his closet and rummaged around for a minute before she emerged with a triumphant 'ah-ha!' and a pair of brown flip flops. Stiles slipped them on obediently and she stepped back to survey her work. "Perfect!" she declared, clearly pleased. "Come see," she led him to the full length mirror she had covered with a blanket earlier an whipped away the fabric with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

Stiles looked at his reflection and found his breath leaving him forcefully in surprise. He looked... hot. His eyelashes- usually so dark and long- were even darker due to the mascara and curled up, casting shadow on the lightly shaded brown/gold eyeshadow. The dark brown liquid eyeliner enhanced his lower lash line and his usually almost dull brown eyes appeared...  _golden_. His lips were painted a brown/red and were parted in surprise. his jaw showed no signs of stubble, clean shaved and concealed. His normal mole was in place but other than that he almost didn't recognize his face.

Lower down, his legs were toned and smooth, a light golden tan colour that contrasted beautifully with the blue of his dress. His hair was curled in like a forties Rosie the Riveter and a gold sequined headband was placed in it for decoration. His eyebrows were shaped and skin smooth- even his arms were shaved now. The only obvious cues that he was a man was his adam's apple which wasn't too obvious and the slightly wider set of his shoulders- which again, wasn't too obvious. He turned away from his reflection, eyes tearing up, and pulled Lydia into a crushing hug.

"Thank you," he whispered in her hair, kissing her forehead. Lydia laughed and hugged him back just as tightly.

"Anytime, Stiles. Seriously, anyone who doesn't like who you are will have to deal with me,"

"Even Jackson?" he half-joked. Lydia met his watery gaze firmly, lips pressed together.

"Even Jackson," she confirmed. "Now quit blubbering, we have shopping to do and even though our mascara is waterproof, the eyeliner, foundation, and concealer isn't."

Stiles laughed and hugged her briefly once more before releasing her entirely. She gathered her stuff and Stiles took his card out of his wallet, tucking it in his bra, and then they left, jumping into Lydia's car and blasting pop songs as they sped off towards the mall.

* * *

After Lydia was certain Stiles would have all he would ever need, she took him out to eat. They sat in the Applebees and talked, laughing and texting their friends. Stiles didn't even notice anyone looking at him oddly or anything, he was having such a great time. While at he mall he had gotten his ears pierced and was now wearing the tiny golden ball studs Lydia had chosen for him. After dinner she took him home. They embraced again and he thanked her before she drove off.

"Seriously, stop thanking me! Just remember, if you ever need any help with  _anything_ , I will be there. And feel free to come over anytime to borrow something or get ready together. Just make sure you call first so I can kick Jackson out." He laughed and nodded, feeling freer than he had in a very long time.

When he came into his house, his dad was in the kitchen, moving around. Stiles paused in the hallway outside to breathe before setting his shoulders back and strutting in proudly with his shopping bags.

"Hey dad," he greeted, dropping his bags on the table. "How was work?"

"Hey son," john greeted back, looking up slowly from his paper. He did a double take at his son and was silent for a long moment. Then his face softened and he smiled. "Work was good. I see you changed," Stiles bit his lip.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Is that... okay?"

"Well," the Sheriff began slowly, thinking it over. "It's your body, son. It doesn't bother me, your mother was always clear that we should let you express yourself however you want. If this is what you feel like doing... or being, if the case may be, then I am okay with it."

Stiles launched himself at his dad and hugged him tight. "Thank you," he sniffled in his father's neck, eyes tearing up. John hugged him back, kissing his son's forehead just under the curl.

"I love you Stiles, that will never change."

"Love you too, dad."

They chatted about their days for a bit longer before they both retired. Stiles took a shower and used his new products before slipping into bed (nude, as per usual) and sleeping peacefully. The next day was Monday and he had work, he would need the rest.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE CONCLUSION!  
> I am so happy to finish this. I'm going to move on to the Avengers' Fandom and post a series of AU oneshot backstories for the Avengers sometime in the future. But I'm also going to try and update my "Artemis' Blessed Ones" story- another Sterek story I posted here.   
> I hope you enjoy this even though it is a bit short- it's all for fun for me :)

The Pack meeting was that Saturday, two days after Stiles' decision and Lydia and his shopping trip. Since Stiles hadn't told anyone else- not even Scott- Lydia volunteered to come over and help Stiles get ready before the meeting and drive him there and home later if he needed it. Stiles was immeasurably grateful to his friend but she waved away his thanks.

They spent two hours in the bathroom, Lydia patiently teaching him how to apply his own makeup and curl his hair. Once Stiles managed it mostly on his own (Lydia took over his hair after the third time he burned his ear) they both stood in the bathroom, cosmetics strewn across the counter, and gazed at his reflection. Stiles couldn't stop beaming- he was so comfortable and pretty and he felt more confident than ever. That is until Lydia spoke.

"Are you ready for the meeting?" she asked. Stiles' grin slid from his face as he remembered the reason for their prepping. He had no idea how the Pack would react. Scott he was pretty sure wouldn't care either way and Allison was still on bed rest from her stab wound from the Oni so she wouldn't be there but he doubted she would mind either. Derek, Cora, Isaac, Kira, and Jackson were another story. He had no idea how they would react at all but he didn't think he could stand it if they were disgusted. More than likely Peter would not like it but Stiles never cared what Peter thought anyways. But he met Lydia's eyes and saw the genuine concern there mixed with a fierce protectiveness he had only seen a few times and took a deep, shaky breath. 

"Yeah," he cleared his throat when his voice cracked and tried again. "Yeah. Let's go." Lydia nodded with an encouraging smile and took his hand. Together they walked down the stairs towards the front door. Stiles had to force himself not to chew away the red lipstick on his bottom lip in his anxiousness. His dad was sitting in the kitchen and called out as they left.

"Have fun, Stiles. I love you, son!" The last part wasn't uncommon for his dad to say but he was certain his father knew that he would need it today and was making a point to say it because of that which made him feel a little warmer inside.

"Love you too, dad!" he called back as he shut the door behind them. Lydia skipped over to her car and unlocked it, sliding in. Stiles went to the passenger's side and did the same, smoothing down the polka dot skirt of his sundress nervously. Thankfully, Lydia knew just how to make him relax. She reversed out of his driveway and flicked on her radio, setting it to CD and clicking track 5. 

'Wannabe' by the Spice Girls blared out of the speakers and he laughed loudly, relaxing instantly and glimpsing Lydia's smug grin. They rocked out together all the way to Derek's, Stiles getting into it so much that his flower headband/crown fell off his head a few times. He didn't even notice when they pulled up to the house or that the entire pack was gathered on the front porch of the newly restored Hale Mansion and could see straight into Lydia's car. It was Scott's shout of "DUDE!" that broke him from his jam. A horrible wave of déjà vu swept over him as he whipped his hand out to click the radio off. He met Scott's eyes through the windshield with a look of horror. For a moment, everyone was silent.

In unison, Lydia and Scott busted up in laughter. "Not again, man! I was traumatized the first time I walked in on that!" Scott teased as he approached the car. Stiles could feel himself blushing but he couldn't help the smile as he unbuckled and opened the door, sliding out of the vehicle. 

"Sorry, bro," he apologized.

"So what's with the dress? Is this going to be a thing now?" Scott asked nonchalantly. Stiles froze- he had almost forgotten what he was wearing. Swallowing, he nodded, smoothing his hands over his dress.

"Uh, yeah. A 'more-often-than-not' thing. Is that... is that okay?" Scott, bless his wolfy heart, just looked confused.

"Yeah man, why wouldn't it be? You did it when we were kids to. I always wondered why you stopped." he shrugged and slung his arm around Stiles' shoulder, totally relaxed just like any other day. Stiles was so fucking grateful to have Scott as a best friend- the boy had a heart made of warm, melted gold. Or chocolate. Either way, he was the best. 

Scott chattered away as they headed up to the house and onto the deck and Stiles took the time to assess everyone else's expressions as they reacted to his changes. Isaac looked curious but non-judgmental. Kira beamed at him, lounging in a loveseat that Scott had obviously vacated when he arrived. Jackson looked like he was going to say something but Lydia caught his gaze with a deadly glare and he snapped his mouth shut. Stiles suppressed his snigger- he was so whipped. Cora was studying her nails disinterestedly and surprisingly Peter didn't look disgusted- more bored, if anything. Derek, however, was standing off to the side, leaning up against the deck post that held up the roof with his arms crossed and staring at him with dark, impassive eyes. Stiles didn't get the feeling he was glaring though so he took it as a good sign. 

The Pack meeting went for a few hours before they started to depart, one by one. Scott and Kira were eating dinner with her parents so they took off on his bike first. Cora ad Peter went off to spar in the woods and Jackson was nagging Lydia to go out with him for the night (they hadn't had a proper date in  _ages_ he whined. Stiles found it hilarious) but Lydia was reluctant. 

"I drove Stiles here, I can't just abandon him!"

"It's okay," Derek finally spoke up from his dark corner of drama. It was the first words he'd heard Derek speak since he arrived with Lydia. "I can drive Stiles home. You go, have fun." Lydia looked to Stiles who nodded his permission before looking back to Derek and thanking him. Before he knew it, it was just him and Derek, Isaac having wandered off to Deaton's sometime during Jackson's whining.

"So..." Stiles shifted from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable. Derek had been staring at him all through the meeting, his dark eyes leaving hot trails on Stiles' skin as they traced him from head to toe. He had taken to bouncing his leg in anxiety and slight arousal- Derek was a good looking man, so sue him.

"Do you want to come in for dinner? I have lasagna leftovers and you're dad's on patrol, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, his stomach grumbling. The moon was just peeking out now that the sun had fully set and the chill of the autumn night was setting in. "I would love that,"

Derek nodded and led the way into the kitchen, pulling a pan from the fridge and two plates down before dishing up some of the casserole for himself and for Stiles. He heated the food up and they ate in silence, Derek never taking his eyes off him. Stiles was growing more and more uncomfortable.

"OKAY, that's it!" He pushed away his empty plate and stood, walking towards were Derek was standing, leaning against the counter. Derek set his plate aside and crossed his arms in preparation for what he recognized to be an oncoming 'Stiles Rant'. "What is up with the STARING? It's driving me nuts, Derek and maybe it's the dress or something but if you don't accept me for the way I am then I'm sorry but you're going to have to deal with it because it's my body and not yours and I really don't understand if it bothers you that much then why look at me- just avert your gaze or something! And I don't care if you used to be this all-powerful alpha with his really attractive workout regimes and swirly pack tattoo you need to learn that there are boundaries and no one with the exception of whoever I happen to be dating has permission to look at me for this long and since I am currently single due to the fact my life is an insane mess with crazy supernatural creatures and magic so you have no right to stare unless you kiss me or something ridiculous like-," he made a muffled noise of surprise and shock when Derek lunged forward ad sealed his mouth with his own.

Derek wasted no time, licking and nipping and plundering Stiles' mouth. Stiles moaned and melted, his body reacting without his conscious consent and lips moving until he was kissing Derek back and his eyes fluttered shut but then he needed to breathe and he pushed away.

"What the HELL what that?"

"That was me kissing you," Derek answered, his tone half-sarcastic, half-amused. 

"No shit Sherlock, WHY?" Stiles was indignant and confused and couldn't tear his eyes away from Derek's lips. Derek notice and said lips curled into a smug little smile. Derek stepped forward until they were chest to chest, their noses brushing together and breath mingling.

"Because I wanted to," he answered. Stiles went cross-eyed trying to look at him and sputtered adorably. Derek laughed and Stiles felt it more than heard it, the rumble of his chest vibrating in the air between them as the older man leaned down the extra centimeter and waited for him to respond. Unable to help himself, Stiles lunged forwards and kissed him. 

They kissed and kissed and somehow Stiles found himself sitting on the counter with Derek in between his legs and he was moaning as he panted and Derek sucked a mark into his neck and growled.

"Mine," he declared proudly. Stiles grinned and leaned down, biting Derek's neck in response, hard enough to bruise. He licked it even as it healed.

"Mine," he agreed. Derek groaned, pleased and Stiles huffed a laugh. 

"So is it the dress? Is that a kink for you?" he asked as Derek's hands traveled up his bare, waxed thighs and found the lace of his panties. He gasped as Derek rubbed the outline of his erection through them.

"No," Derek pulled back to meet his eyes. "It's you. You're my weakness, Stiles. It has always been you."

"Oh," to say he was shocked was an understatement but hey- who was he to complain? This was the physical embodiment of every wet dream he'd had since he was sixteen. A warm feeling bubbled in his chest as the shock of the confession wore off. "I love you too, Sourwolf," he smiled and kissed Derek's forehead, watching the way the moonlight from the window above the sink played in his dark hair. Derek groaned at the words and stroked his panty-clad erection harder causing him to jerk and spasm with pleasure.

"I love you, Stiles," he admitted quietly before ducking down and licking his way back up to his goal.

Stiles didn't go home that night. Peter and Cora ate breakfast on the porch the next morning.

"The kitchen, Derek, _really_?" Peter complained.

Stiles only laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a Kudos or a review, tell me how you feel about it! I hope to get he next chapter up tomorrow but it depends on how long my nephew decides to nap!


End file.
